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Trovommi Amor

A little something cooked up in celebration of our dear Remus's birthday. Enjoy! :)

Title: Trovommi Amor
Author: Lola Ravenhill/ io_aenaria
Format: Ficlet, 657 words
Rating: PG
Warning: smidge of swearing
Prompt: two pictures--the cut hand and the water at the door of the house
Summary: Love found me altogether disarmed...

Trovommi Amor
--by Lola Ravenhill

“Si, si. Grazie. OW! Bastard.” Tonks follows Remus’s swears until she finds him, leaning against the open doorway clutching his left hand to his chest.

“What happened?” she asks, pulling at his hand. When she sees the cut on there she winces—it is deep and right across the center of his palm.

“Bloody bastard seagulls. Why can’t they use owls here like the rest of the wizarding world?” Remus mutters, hissing through his teeth as Tonks jabs at the cut with her wand, casting a few emergency healing spells.

“Because an owl would look a damn strange sight flying over the Grand Canal in broad daylight. Besides, given a choice between seagulls and Death Eaters—“

“—I’ll take the seagulls,” they chorus, Remus grinning down at the pink and brown spikes of hair.

“Come on, my stash of bandages is in the kitchen. We’ll get this fixed up in no time.”

* * *

Voldemort has been soundly defeated, but there are more than a few mentally unbalanced Death Eaters still out there with a desire to inflict great pain on some of the more infamous members of the Order. Those people in question are under orders to scatter or hide, and cover their tracks well. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are…well, God only knows where (but sending frequent update letters at Molly’s insistence). McGonagall is holding down the fort at Hogwarts, and Remus and Tonks took off for Venice. Remus claims the ever-present sea would keep Greyback’s more ardent followers from finding them. Tonks suspects that Remus wanted to be a gondolier as a boy.

* * *

The kitchen of their tiny house overlooks the canal. In the mornings, before the hoards of tourists struck, the sun reflects off the water and windows making everything sparkle and gleam. When it rains though everything looks grey and dark again, the drops weighing down the vines that cover the buildings opposite them. The boats cover up and people take refuge inside and on covered balconies, watching the storm pass by with a glass of wine in hand.

“Oh, shit,” Tonks swears under her breath, leaning out the window to yank the laundry inside and away from the rain. They are under orders not to use too much magic, so the delicate clothing hangs outside on a line rather than quickly drying with a simple spell. She tosses the bundles back towards the table, taking time to wrap a voluminous sun yellow scarf from the bunch around her head and shoulders.

Tonks leans outside the window again, feeling the rain spatter on her face and smelling the city—salt water, a smidge of dead fish, soft roses and a hint of motor oil. Totally unique and suiting the city nearly perfectly. Coming up behind her, Remus strokes the scarf lightly. “This is new,” he murmurs. “That shop down the block, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replies, turning around to sit on the windowsill and letting the rain fall against her back. Her bum slips a little on the slick wood, but she quickly rights herself. “Now where are those bandages?”

He places the box in her outstretched hand and flips his cut and bloody one palm side up. A few quick and gentle moves has the healing ointment slathered on, gauze wound tightly around, and taped in place. With a kiss to the back of it she gives him back his hand, and his arms move around her waist.

She tilts her head back, the wind whipping at the scarf, sending it swirling like golden smoke around her face. Remus reaches up, slides a hand under the shawl and into her wispy hair. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispers, stroking a raindrop into her skin with his thumb.

In that moment, far away from everything she has ever known as a stranger in a strange land, she knows she is home.

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